


Everybody Wants To Be A Cat

by OnForeboding



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Cats, Fluff, M/M, mainly snippet chapters :), maybe other stuff, tags will be added as we all go on this magic journey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-05-16 06:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14805947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnForeboding/pseuds/OnForeboding
Summary: Forellelan, who wished really hard for a Silver cat sanctuary fic to happen!Flint does the rounds on the Hamilton Trust's charitable givings and it's St. John's Home for Poor Orphan Cats's turn.What kind of name is that?





	1. Everybody pickin' up on the feline beat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellel/gifts).



This did not look like a cat shelter. It barely looked like what it was supposed to be, which Flint presumed was a cottage of some kind. It was hard to tell there was a house at all, behind all the overgrown vegetation, moss, and slithering vines.

A small wooden sign hung next to the door read, in sloppy red letters, “St. John's Home for Poor Orphan Cats”. That was the only signifier of the type of organisation housed inside. Well, that, and all the cats.

There were at least fifteen of them just at the front of the house. Some were sleeping in the midday sunlight. Some were lounging on the limbs of the two large trees that flanked the building. Some ate or drank from the large, multicoloured plastic containers scattered about the white gravel. A few were giving him a disinterested look.

Flint couldn’t exactly boast a lot of experience but he was fairly certain this was not what cat shelters were supposed to look like.

He smoothed over his suit blazer and pushed the doorbell button. It didn’t seem to produce any sound inside the house, but that was not unusual.

No answer.

He pressed again, and then knocked on the yellow door for good measure.

After a few seconds, he finally heard the sound of steps on the gravel and saw a curly-haired man round the corner of the house.

He was sporting a huge grin on his face, which Flint instinctively recognised as the trademark of the charlatan type. Didn’t help he was attractive, a rarity of golden skin under the English weather. He walked with a limp but that didn’t seem to ruin his sauntering, which was even harder to pull off wearing polka dot wellies and a chunky knit, light blue cardigan. His perfectly dishevelled look was brought together by his beard. When he spotted Flint his eyebrows shot up, seemingly taken aback, but he swiftly recovered.

“Hello!” The man waved. “Sorry, the doorbell doesn’t actually work. The cats got into the wiring, somehow.”

Flint extended his right hand. “James Flint, from the Hamilton Foundation.”

The man uttered a sigh of relief. “Thank god, I thought you were a debt collector. Quite the contrary!”

Flint frowned. “Do you have significant debt associated with your person or the shelter?”

“What? No, no! But you never know, you know?” The man laughed nervously and then finally shook Flint’s hand. “John Silver. Lovely to meet you.”

Flint’s gaze shifted to the sign by the door. “You named yourself the patron saint of the shelter?”

Silver laughed. “No, I’m afraid it’s the other way arou—”

“Fuckin’ hell!” Another man’s voice erupted from behind Silver.

“Sorry…” Silver half mumbled, then speed walked back towards the voice. “Muldoon?”

A loud bang made both Silver and Flint start running in its direction.

Flint was greeted by the sight of a bald, bearded, heavily tattooed, and soaking wet gentleman sitting on the floor.

“Fuckin’ Mrs. Mapleton!” the aforementioned gentleman shouted.

“Watch your profanity,” Silver chided him in a high pitched voice, mirth all over his face. “We have an esteemed guest!”

The man locked eyes with Flint and quickly got up. “Sorry about that. Little ones can be hard to keep in line.”

Silver turned to Flint conspiratorially. “Mrs. Mapleton is not overly fond of her medicated baths, but needs must.”

Flint felt something wet against his lower leg. Looking down, he saw a fat, grey cat with horribly matted fur trying to dry herself on his trouser leg. This was one of his favourite pairs! He shook his leg but only succeed in making the feline attach herself to it with her very sharp claws. “Ow. Ow!” Flint shook his leg harder.

“No, no, don’t do that,” Silver said. He crouched down and efficiently, but gently, pried the cat off. And then he started rubbing Flint’s calf with his free hand. What was happening? Why was this man touching him? Before Flint could register the sudden tingling feeling rising up his leg, Silver was gone, now petting the cat instead. He rose up, gave Flint a big smile, and turned back to the other fellow.

“Well, you seem to have managed to get some of it on her this time, Muldoon. That’s a victory right there!” He lowered the cat onto the floor. “Go on, Mrs. Mapleton.”

The cat scurried away and started licking herself.

“Shall I give you a tour, Mr. Flint?” Silver offered. As if on cue, a young black cat jumped from nowhere and landed on his shoulder. “This is Kizmet. He’s one year old and loves avocados.”

Flint grunted. Avocados were expensive.


	2. When playin' jazz he always has a welcome mat

Flint was not easily rattled, but the prolonged and highly focused stare of two differently coloured eyes was starting to feel very pointed. Could cats be judgemental? The cat herself, Boo, was beautiful: completely white, with perfectly pink inner ears. A crystalline blue eye and a smoky yellow one gave her an otherworldly appearance. Miranda used to say cats had a fey energy about them; half in, half out. Thomas would’ve just supplied him with an abridged history on heterochromia.

Flint smiled and reached out to pet Boo but was interrupted by Silver returning with the long-awaited tea.

Silver put down a steaming white mug on the coffee table in front of Flint; it read “#1 cat mum”.

“Here we are. No sugar, one dollop,” Silver said, sitting next to Flint.

Flint couldn’t help shifting away, side-eyeing him. The room was already a bit too cramped with furniture, knick knacks, and cats for Flint’s taste, so the blatant disregard for his personal space only added insult to injury. The man was simply bizarre.

Silver smiled and took a sip of his own drink. “I see you’ve already gotten acquainted with Boo. She can be suspicious of strangers but she seems to have taken a real shine to you.”

“Where are you from? I can’t place your accent at all,” Flint interjected.

“All over, really. Nowhere, everywhere. You know how it is,” Silver half mumbled.

Flint cocked an eyebrow. “No, not really. You sound like—“

“Would you like to meet the rest of the cats?” Silver asked.

Before Flint could answer, Silver whistled through his fingers. In the distance, Flint could hear throughout the house the pitter-patter of dozens of paws scurrying across wooden floorboards. Expecting a barrage of cats, he was surprised to see the first arrival was actually a dog: a floppy-eared, chocolate brown dachshund. The small dog ran towards Silver and tried, unsuccessfully, to jump on his lap.

Silver laughed and picked him up. “This is Jon Snow and no, I did not name him.”

The dozens of cats Flint had expected finally filtered into the room, seemingly feigning indifference.

Flint took a deep breath. “To begin with, I have several questions regarding your use of the premises.”

Silver petted Jon Snow. “I know what you’re thinking, but he thinks he’s a cat.”

“Pardon?”

“Jon Snow thinks he’s a cat. As a puppy, he was raised with a litter of kittens,” Silver clarified. “So he just grew up thinking he was a cat. It’s actually really funny. He keeps trying to get up to the same places the others cats do. He even grooms himself!”

Flint raised his hand to stop any further babbling. “Regardless, I’m sure his place is not in a cat shelter. As I’m sure the place of all the cats running freely through the property is not in the house. I’m sorry, this feels highly irregular. Do you not get yearly inspections? Are the animals properly vaccinated? What is the—“

“Look, look!” Silver pointed at the dachshund, now on the floor by his feet.

Flint rolled his eyes. “Mr. Silver, I haven’t come here for this drivel.” Flint glanced at the dog. What the bloody hell? The dog was lying with his front paws curled under himself, in true feline fashion, which was an impressive feat for a dachshund. “Why is he laying like that? That can’t be good for him.”

“I told you, he thinks he’s a cat!” Silver laughed. “I love weiner dogs… Doesn’t he look even more like a sausage, like that? Ripley, get off your brother!”

A lithe, dark brown tabby had approached the dog and unceremoniously sat on its head. The dachshund didn’t seem perturbed by his newly acquired, loudly purring hat.

Flint was getting severely side-tracked and could feel the beginning of a migraine coming on. Was he sweating? “May I see the shelter’s most recent licenses and inspection papers?”

Silver smiled sheepishly, but then his expression turned horrified. “Cat Stevens, no!”

Before Flint could understand what was happening, a large furry weight landed on his head and suddenly there was warm liquid running down his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there's a dog now too. 
> 
> Cameos by:
> 
> Boo, part of [ellelan](http://ellelan.tumblr.com/)'s family and Ripley, part of [Linz](http://linzorz.tumblr.com)'s family.


	3. A square with a horn makes you wish you weren't born

“I’m so sorry!” Silver shouted through the bathroom door. He should’ve known Cat Stevens was going to pull one of his incontinent episodes with a stranger around. “It’s actually a really sad story. He doesn’t handle strangers well and he’s getting old,” he continued, leaning on the door. “When he first got here I had to change my bed every day and get some plastic covers for the sofas! Muldoon was—”

The door opened abruptly. Silver’s momentous fall was cushioned by the large torso of the visiting ginger. What a wonderful smell this fellow had. Even after the cat piss. Silver was unceremoniously righted by the strong arms and left to tend to his disarrayed curls. “Please don’t take our money!” he pleaded.

Mr. Flint sighed deeply, and the crease in his forehead deepened. Now that was a face Silver was familiar with. Except this one was more handsome than most. He had rinsed his hair and was now sporting a very attractive wet look. Mr. Flint straightened his tie knot and stared pointedly. It took Silver an embarrassingly long time to decode it as a cue to move out of his way. He hastened to do so.

Mr. Flint moved swiftly back the way they’d come from. “Do you have an office where we can have a discussion without being interrupted?”

Silver pursed his lips. In a pinch it’d have to do. “Sort of.”

Mr. Flint sighed again.

“But we won’t be disturbed! Follow me.” Silver headed towards the stairs, and heard Mr. Flint follow. “Here we are. After you.” He opened the door.

He could see on Flint’s face the moment it registered he’d just been invited into a bedroom, and not a tidy one at that.

“What exactly are you playing at here?” Flint demanded, his tone much more aggressive than the situation warranted. It took Silver by surprise, but a closer analysis of the true nature of the red on Flint’s face clarified the issue.

Oh. Oh! Okay, he could work with that.

Silver ran a hand through his curls and swiped them to the left, in that way he knew got him most things he asked for. “I do apologise, but I’m afraid it’s the only room in the house off limits to the cats.” Silver smiled and slid into the room, strategically missing Mr. Flint’s body by a dangerous inch. “There’s a desk inside.”

He ignored Mr. Flint’s dizzied hare stance and started picking up his clothes off the floor and furniture. He cleared the office chair first and then pushed the mountain of papers on the desk as far back as he could, along with his laptop.

Eventually, Mr. Flint decided to come in.

Silver glanced at him from the corner of his right eye. “Close the door, please. Or they’ll get in and I can’t have them pissing all over the invoicing. Again.” He found an errant hair tie, gave himself the best messy man bun he could muster blindly, and sat on the bed. “Sorry about the mess.” He smiled sheepishly.

Flint walked around his room as if terrified of getting tetanus but found his way into the black office chair. He seemed back in control of his demeanour. Shame. “Mr. Silver, let me be perfectly clear. It’s apparent to me that your establishment has never passed an inspection during its existence,” he declared. Silver made to answer, but Flint carried on. “Furthermore, I don’t believe it ever had a license to operate to begin with.”

Silver tried to keep a steady smile but was somewhat aware that he was probably failing miserably. He might’ve miscalculated here.

Flint leaned forward, elbows on his widened knees. Silver leaned backwards on his hands.

“What I do believe,” Flint pressed on, “is that you’ve been taking advantage of the Hamilton Foundation’s good will with this ludicrous scheme of yours.” Mr. Flint’s grin reminded Silver of a shark ready to feast. He had definitely miscalculated. “But it would seem your luck has run out.”

Miscalculated all over the place, just like Cat Stevens pissing in the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to [Linz](http://linzorz.tumblr.com), my editor-in-chief!
> 
> You can find me over at [parrots not in london anymore](https://parrots-not-in-london-anymore.tumblr.com/)


	4. Every time he plays oh riki-tiki-tinky

“What do you think?”

Flint took off his reading glasses and sighed. “I think you’re lucky you have friends in the right places... This is a mess. This place doesn’t pass any kind of inspection!” He put the pile of invoices back in the random tin of biscuits he found them in. “Seems to me you’ve spent a tremendous amount of money on care for cats that should’ve been put down, quite frankly.”

Silver frowned. “I think everybody deserves a chance.” He stood very still for a moment, before jumping off the bed toward a startled Flint. He stretched over Flint’s lap to reach a set of drawers under the desk. “Even if everyone else has given up on them.”

Flint remained shell-shocked and paralysed, feeling the heat radiating off Silver, while he rummaged through the drawer. His loose white tee ran up, and a sliver of golden-brown skin danced in Flint’s line of sight. Around his neck, a silver necklace with an anchor pendant swang low enough to repeatedly hit Flint’s nose. This was miles away from what he had envisioned for today. 

Silver finally produced a stash of Polaroids, which he dropped on the cluttered desk—pictures of cats, their names written in black sharpie across the white bottom section.

Flint picked one up—a ginger Persian with a murderous look stared back at him, the words “Captain” scribbled under it. 

Silver sat back on the bed. “Oh, Cap. He was my special boy. Terribly grumpy but only if you didn’t take the time to get to know him. His owner died suddenly, so he was left without the only companion he’d ever known. He also had a pretty serious case of cataracts. Enough to put anyone in a mood, amirite? But he loved sunbathing and cuddling next to me in bed. He died in my arms four years later than he was supposed to.” Silver scanned the pictures with a sad smile. “You can say we specialise in that type of thing, here at St. John’s.”

“Blind cats?” Flint put his reading glasses back on and held the polaroids up. “That would certainly explain some of the acrobatics I saw from a few of them earlier...”

Silver stretched his left leg on the bed and knocked on it, producing a hollow metal sound. “Hopeless cases.”

“You’re very proud of the way you set that one up, aren’t you?”

Silver gave a dismayed exhale, mouth agape, which he managed to maintain for an impressive two seconds before snorting. “Listen, I sing whatever song I have to sing to open the purse strings, mate. Just don’t ask me to dance.”

It was Flint’s turn to chuckle. “I hope you’re a great singer, then. It will take some convincing to sort some of these things out. The loans alone…”

Silver smiled. “You’ll help me then?”

“Oh, no. No, no, no.”

Silver’s smile only grew.

“You need an accountant.”

“Pleeeease? You’ve gotten a better handle on it in the last 15 minutes than I have in years!”

Flint remained unconvinced. “Somehow, I feel that speaks more to laziness than lack of understanding…”

“Well, _I_ feel the Trust’s funds would be much safer under your diligent supervision,” Silver said, affecting an air of seriousness. “You can make sure your charitable contributions are not being squandered. That is, after all, your job description, correct?” Silver retrieved his mobile from his back pocket. “At least, that’s what it said on the website, under your face.” Silver turned the phone screen towards Flint.

“You googled me?” Flint realised he sounded appalled but it actually made perfect sense for Silver to do so. That was a terrible picture. He looked… pompous.

“Of course! I’m not an idiot. You could be any rando weirdo.”

Exactly.

“I also found your Grindr profile,” Silver finished, eyes deceptively focused on his phone’s screen.

“My what?!” Flint nearly shouted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I'm the fandom pet lady, I've embraced this. 
> 
> My thanks to [Linz](http://linzorz.tumblr.com), for taking the time to review all my nonsense, despite her very full plate!

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I'm the pet lady of the fandom, now?  
> I did not intend for this to happen. Why can't I ever be the cool lady? Or the existential crisis fic lady? C'mon... 
> 
> My thanks to cat enthusiast and writer extraordinaire, [Linz](http://linzorz.tumblr.com), for always reviewing my nonsense. 
> 
> Title from the song "Ev'rybody Wants to Be a Cat", from the Disney movie The Aristocats, as sung by Scatman Crothers.


End file.
